


Easy to Love

by cancerthecrabbo



Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers Family, But this isn't a song-fic, Dancing, Domestic Avengers, Fluff, Gen, Minor Injuries, No Slash, Peter Parker is an Avenger, Post-Battle, Precious Peter Parker, Quesadillas are made, Really idealistic, Self-Indulgent, Team as Family, There is a song, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i just want my children to be happy, peter is a cinnamon roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 12:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9123817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cancerthecrabbo/pseuds/cancerthecrabbo
Summary: Post-battle mornings sucked really bad, but Peter could deal with it. Especially when he got to dance with the world's greatest heroes in sweatpants. It definitely made up for all the bleeding and such.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own "Easy to Love" or The Jezabels.

**Easy To Love**

 

* * *

 

Honestly, it was all Peter’s fault.  He knows by now that if he wants any form of privacy, he has to lock himself in his room and web up the door.  After all, this was the Stark Tower, home to the Avengers.  That itself explained all the weird shit that went on inside and it definitely caused the more mature members of the team to want to pull their hair out.  It was amazing their headquarters hadn’t been blown to bits by now seeing as it held two serum-pumped super-soldiers, a self-destructive genius billionaire, his friend who has access to advanced technology that allows him to _fly_ , one (very annoyed, very tired) genius whose powers were controlled by his emotions, two assassins (one of which wouldn’t stop throwing small projectiles at everyone), one size-changing (and allegedly irritating) man, a _Norse god_ , the goddamn “War Machine”, one red-skinned android (with possible emotions?), a young witch, and a mutated, wall-climbing, teenager.

 

Peter pondered the incredible odds that the Tower hadn’t blown up as he rolled off of the couch that he had collapsed on yesterday and took in the scene before him.  All of the previously mentioned members of his team were scattered around the room in various forms of disarray.  None of them had bothered to shower or at least take off their clothes, which were covered in dust, blood, and more blood.  Of course, most of it was their enemies’, so no biggie.  Peter sighed and limped around the room to check each pulse and wasn’t surprised when none of them woke up.  Slightly disappointed and a little worried, because if he was a villain they would all be dead.  His faith wasn’t shaken too bad since Natasha twitched and muttered something, possibly about gutting whoever it was that touched her, and Steve almost woke up.  Then he snuggled back into his corner of the sofa. 

 

Now that all the Avengers were accounted for, Peter could go take a long, hot shower.  He stumbled out of the communal area and onto the elevator.  Even pressing the button with a little blue spider, his sign, took a lot of willpower to force his sore muscles to work.  There a small ding and the doors opened to reveal a customized floor full of posters and beautiful photos and little work-in-progress trinkets.  The clock read 5:28.  Peter cursed his internal clock for waking him up so early and headed to the bathroom.  He turned to the mirror to make sure he wouldn’t collapse in the shower.

 

His mask was off and the rest of the spider-themed uniform was torn up but that didn’t mean it was easy to get off.  He pulled at it half-heartedly as he closed the bathroom door.  It was stuck to his skin from all the dried blood and sweat.  There were large black marks from being flung and dragged on the asphalt.  One of his web shooters crumbled as he examined its state.  The various tears in the fabric revealed gashes and scrapes that burned and itched and _stung_ , but he ignored it. 

 

“Ugh!”  He gave up trying to peel it off and ripped it in half, revealing a myriad of black and purple bruises covering most of his body.  His ribs ached, just like the rest of his body, and there was the dark bruise in the shape of an inhumanly large hand on his ankle.  His left ear was nicked at the top and his head throbbed brutally.  Most of his wounds were scabbed but some still bled sluggishly.  “Ugh,” he said again.  Peter turned away from the large mirror before him and turned on the water until steam rolled out of the opened door.  The glass looked like it was made with bubbles in it, half transparent but only enough be able to see blobs of color instead of actual figures.  Shaking his head as if to clear it of irrelevant thoughts, he stepped under the stream of water.  The moment he did, the water that hit the pristine floor turned red and black with filth and blood.  _Ew_ , he thought, then turned to grab the shampoo.  He had to lather, rinse, and repeat four times before his hair felt clean.  Then he scrubbed himself down, wincing when he reached scabbing gashes but couldn’t get all of the scarlet that grinded at his nerves.  By the time he was done, any skin that wasn’t already discolored was rubbed raw. 

 

Once Peter had pulled on his softest sweatpants and sweatshirt, he headed toward the kitchen in the living room where his friends were still unconscious.  After downing two tablets of strong painkillers, he got to making breakfast.  He was hungry, enough so that he didn’t wait for Sam or Steve to make him pancakes.  His second-rate quesadillas and coffee would have to suffice.  As the tortilla was heating up, he looked out the window.  The view from the living room was his favorite, the walls all glass on one side, allowing him to see a picturesque and panoramic view of New York.  The tall skyscrapers stood solid, just barely brushing the horizon from Peter’s viewpoint.  He loved seeing the sun crawl over the building’s edge and turn the clouds pink and gold.  The brunet closed his eyes, reaching with the rest of his senses. 

 

The sound of the coffee maker trickling his caffeinated drink tickled his ears along with some of his teammate’s snores, the only other noise being his own breathing.  He took in the feeling of the AC’s cold air brushing against his hands, hanging at his side.  The smell of tortillas, sweat, and his shampoo filled his nose.  This was his routine, his ritual.  After a large fight like yesterday’s the adrenaline left over still made his hands shake.  His eyebrows twitched when a cut on his forehead reopened spontaneously and trickled blood down his cheeks like a tear would and landed on his lip.  The taste of blood shattered his fragile sense of peace.  Grabbing a paper towel and wetting it, he cleaned off the blood and put a Hawkeye band-aid on it.  Tony had bought the Avengers band-aids as soon as they came out as a joke, but since they were the closest to Peter he didn’t really give a shit.  His fingers were jittery again and he felt like his spidey-sense was about to go off.  Any time he tried to explain what he felt after a fight, he compared it to that awful feeling after almost falling down a high perch, like stairs.  The dark, heavy, feeling that stewed in your stomach as you stared at the steps and your heart jumped in your throat.  He felt like the villain they’d fought yesterday was about to come back.

 

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he turned toward the high-tech stove and turned on his music, blasting it in his ears to try and chase away the nagging voice in his head telling him that danger was afoot and about to smash his skull in.  He sprinkled cheese, Monterey Jack, on the tortilla he’d slapped on the non-stick pan and fished a spatula out of a random drawer.  Once he’d finished his first quesadilla (he would probably be making 6 more), his nerves had begun to smoothen out and he could breathe relatively well.  Then, “Easy to Love” by The Jezabels came on and he couldn’t help but dance around.  He hummed and snapped his hips side to side, keeping with the beat.  Then, he bumped into something taller than himself and saw that it was Bucky.  The Winter Soldiers looked sheepish and confused.  Spidey blushed for a moment up to his ears until his grin chased away the red dusting his cheeks.  He took out his ear buds, ignoring the fact that it woke up the Avengers, and turned up the volume.

 

_Well I was the one who showed you the sky,_  
_But you brought it down, down to my thighs._  
_Sadly believed every word_  
_I didn’t mean about loving darkness_

Peter took Bucky’s hands, flesh against flesh, and flesh against metal.  He guided the larger, older man and started to move his hips again.  It was Bucky’s turn to blush as the young spider danced with him in the spacious kitchen.  All of the members were all awake now, blurry-eyed and puzzled.  Steve was the first to spot the pair and began to smile widely.  Peter twisted around and somehow managed to turn off the oven in a graceful mix of steps.  He turned back and laughed alongside the few member that were able to process what was going on.

 

_And there it is now, he enters the room._  
_It guts like fish to see how he’s grown._  
_So we go out onto the town to mess around._  
_Ooh, get my groove on, mess around._

Peter sang along to Hayley Mary, twirling away from Bucky when he saw that the assassin would keep dancing without his guidance.  He moved over to Steve and grabbed his hands as he had done with the other super soldier and heaved him off the couch, prompting him to dance.  Clint and Natasha were targeted next, Black Widow swinging her hips alongside Peter and Clint grinning wildly as he went over to Wanda, Vision, and Tony to get them up too.

 

_Well you were the one who thought it was funny_  
_That half of the world had never seen money._  
_Shimmy-shuffle round, break it all down._  
_It does never come to an end, as long as you can help yourself._

Sam and Rhodey were reluctant to join in but one look at the young college student letting go of his stress got them dancing in seconds.  Peter just seemed to have that effect on people, which included super-powered, traumatized, and potentially dangerous people.  Speaking of Peter, he was grabbing Thor and Scott.  The god looked a little perplexed but relaxed anyways and laughed when he saw that everyone else was up.

 

_There it is now, she enters the room._  
_It guts like a fish to see how she’s grown._  
_Saw me go blind, step out of line,_  
_You know I can’t help myself._

Natasha and Wanda were bumping hips, and Steve and Tony were mirroring each other’s moves.  Vision was stumbling along, Clint guiding his hesitant movements.  Rhodey had stuck with Sam and simple dancing, and Scott was keeping Bruce from sitting back down swinging his shoulders left to right until the latter was dancing on his own.  Peter had gone back to Bucky and was spinning himself around and in turn twirling the soldier, singing along and laughing and letting go of the tension in his shoulders.

 

_When you get your groove on I go blind._  
_When you get your groove on I go blind._  
_When you get your groove on I go blind._

 

They stayed like that all morning, ignoring their rumbling bellies and aching joints.  They danced and switched partners and spun around the room until they couldn’t stand.  The music still played as Peter plopped down next to Wanda and Scott, breathless and flushed and so alive.  His quesadilla was long forgotten in favor of breakfast being delivered to the tower, courtesy of Jarvis.  It was then that Peter decided that this was much more fun that his usual coping method, laying on a beanbag and surrounded by his family of superheroes, laughing at their antics and stuffing his face with pastries and scrambled eggs.  One by one, they fell asleep again, safe and stuffed.  Peter leaned against Ant Man and fell asleep to the sounds of the tower. 

 

_So, let me go out into the evil world that you know,_  
_Where my baby cries, but I cut the ties._  
_Oh, let me go out into the sinful world that you know,_  
_That you really love._

 

Privacy was overrated, anyway.

 

_Just let me be easy to love.  
Just let me be easy to love._


End file.
